


Zenith

by ellelore



Series: A Glow [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, Dragons, F/M, Gen, King's Landing, Post Season 7, boatbaby, protective drogon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellelore/pseuds/ellelore
Summary: Having just taken King's Landing with a single dragon and a small army, Daenerys intends to see Cersei Lannister executed, and the city under control.Her unborn child however, has other ideas.





	Zenith

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This is just my second fic, and was dancing around in my head for a while.  
> Admittedly, its a bit different, but I had to get it down. It follows mostly show elements, though there are some skewed AU book elements as well, just so you know. 
> 
> Obvi, this is not my world, and it belongs to GRRM. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

She had been ignoring the twinges for hours, convincing herself for a time that they were just that. Twinges, little pulls within her belly that did not yet radiate into her pelvis and legs. They had been simpler pass off as discomfort when she was mounted on Drogon, an awkward byproduct of riding a dragon while heavily pregnant.

Daenerys wanted her babe, more than anything in the world. But she wished the little one could wait, wait until Jon was with her, wait until they had left the stench and blood of King's Landing, wait until Cersei Lannister was dead.

For a moment, Daenerys considered that the only situation that could have been worse would involve having her child in the Lands of Always Winter, the Night King himself bearing down on her. The two scenarios were lacking maesters, both involved a foreign world where enemies outnumbered friends and in each Jon was absent.

King's Landing was supposed to be the final push, the were supposed to defeat the undead, and then move south, but the dead remained static in the North. There had been battles, there had been death, Winterfell lay in ruin…

Daenerys did not wish to think of the past, her present was all too vivid and it had Cersei Lannister sitting in the Iron Throne before Daenerys and her advisors.

"I would have allowed you to live," Daenerys said to the former queen, once again pretending the twist in her swollen belly was not truly happening. Further from Drogon, the pain was more biting, a sharp force that made her want to gasp. "I would have allowed you to live if you had indeed been with child. Long enough for you to deliver it, so we could bring it to your brother at Riverrun."

Arya stood next to Cersei, her bloodied Valyrian steel dagger in hand. The gore splashed across her face from earlier kills was dried black. It had been some time since the fighting ended within the keep. The turnover of King's Landing was taking longer, but it was due only to size and not resistance.

"You will die, for many things, among them going back on your word to aid us," Daenerys said, feeling emboldened as she strode forward, a hand on the leather armour over her belly. "Perhaps the punishment of losing the city so easily will allow you to see your failures. The people never respected you, they ensured your demise by allowing my soldiers entry. You've likely not heard, but many Goldcloaks, and not just our spies, aided after seeing how you failed to protect them. How you sat here and allowed them to die for you. The Golden Company, they have been the most steadfast, but seeing their cause was lost, many surrendered or fled."

Cersei said nothing, merely gripped at the arms of the throne, knowing well where to place her hands without being caught by a blade.

"Your Lords and their men, many fought bravely. Many were willing to die for you, perhaps they feared you, perhaps they believed the lies you told them of me. But many have been captured, and many will accept my vow to allow them home to prepare for the winter if they encourage their men to do the same. There was no fight to be had, and even if they cared to rise up for your sake once more they would have to siege the city and face a dragon."

"And the dead? You have made these lords swear to help you fight against something they could not possibly believe?" Cersei asked, her words slipping through clenched teeth.

"They have been told, they have been warned. They have been given the opportunity to rally at Riverrun if they wish to join. They know that my husband, and his dragon and his wolf, and his army wait for them should there be any planned treachery. Once the dead are finished, we will establish more formal rule over the kingdoms, and reward those who contributed in a positive manner.”

Dany quite enjoyed watching Cersei's tight frown turn into a grimace at the mention of Jon, and she had to stop herself from digging in further. She did wonder which hurt Cersei the most; that Lyanna Stark had Rhaegar's heart? That Jon was hidden from her this entire time? That Jaime found purpose in serving Rhaegar's surviving kin over being at her side?

"You think you are so very different from me," Cersei hissed. "I have done this all, all to protect my family, my children. You will do the same when someone threatens yours, and I'm not speaking of your beasts. You will come to understand how fast and hot hatred can boil when someone so much as speaks against your babe. You will remember me when you first experience it, when blood is spilled for the sake of your child's life."

"Do I get to kill her soon?" Arya rolled her eyes. "She talks more than I remember."

Cersei Lannister had thus far been doing her very best to ignore the young Stark, perhaps in an attempt to forget how they had failed to find her all those years ago. A reminder of Cersei's failures.

"Not yet," Tyrion bit. "I give the order. It will be before the city, so they can see justice done."

Arya sighed.

"I am nothing like you," Daenerys smiled as sweetly as she could manage. "I would never kill innocents for the sake of my own anger. I understand, perhaps, better than you how blood boils, how heat flashes deep within. And yet, I contain it. I've contained it here today. I could simply have burned the city to the ground, all the soldiers and men you have, this very keep with you inside."

"Oh yes, how compassionate you are," Cersei snapped.

"It seems to have worked," Tyrion said. "Our brother faced her Majesty's dragon and still found her worthy of supporting."

"He has remained with you because of what Rhaegar's cock managed and nothing else," Cersei said, her voice warbling on Rhaegar's name. "Jaime will hate you for this. For killing me."

"He encouraged it, actually," Tyrion smiled, stepping closer to be within the same distance as Daenerys, about seven or so strides from the stairs that led up to the throne. "He has come to understand the poison that you are."

The fallen queen sat back in her wretched seat, seething as she often seemed to do. Her green eyes flashed to Dany, then to Arya. "Your babe will suffer for what you have done here. Ned Stark died here, his brother and father in this very room, his whore sister further south. Your idiot brother, died coming south despite being Tully, slaughtered exactly where your family waits now. Wolves do not fare well in the south."

"I have no intentions on staying long after you have bled out," Arya smirked.

"And I should be thankful that my child is a dragon, the same as its father, and his father," Daenerys said, unable to resist forcing another squirm from Cersei.

She waved her hand, and four Dothraki and Unsullied marched from the back of the Throne Room, Ser Jorah moved from the foot of the stairs and up the dais with them.

“These men will watch you,” Dany said. “You may sit on this throne a little while longer. Ser Jorah, if she decides to remove herself from that seat, you have my leave to do what must be done. How fitting it would be if she died on the same steps where Ser Jaime killed the Mad King."

Arya flipped her dagger in her hand, and slotted it back into the sheath at her belt before all but skipping down the steps.

“Soon?” She raised her brows at Dany.

In return, Daenerys placed a hand on her good-sister's shoulder.

“Soon. I need your help with another matter first.”

They turned to leave, Tyrion with them, and found Missandei waiting at the door with news from the city. Before Daenerys could ask after her friend, the tightness wound in her belly once more, and this time her hand caught Arya's wrist while the other held at the babe. The room paused, all eyes were suddenly on her and not Cersei.

"Your Grace," Tyrion's brows furrowed, Missandei rushed forwards and Arya grabbed Dany's wrist back. "Are you well?"

They feared Cersei's words, she could see it in their eyes. To not tell them would only stoke the concern. She nodded for them to leave the room, the contraction dissipating. It had been short, but more acutely painful than the others.

With the doors of the throne room shut, she breathed out almost as a whistle as she considered what to say.

"It seems that my child is eager to be born in King's Landing," she smiled through a grimace. "I had hoped it would be opposed to such an idea."

"But there is no Maester here," Tyrion said.

"And Jon… how long until it comes?" Arya asked.

"I'm not certain. I have not had my water break, but there is not enough time to return to Riverrun, or for Jon to receive a raven. The matter I was going to ask you to help with, Arya, Missandei, you as well and I suppose Tyrion may be able to help... I need you to find a brothel, and I need you to find women who have experience delivering children." Daenerys was not surprised to see apprehension cross the faces of the three she had enlisted. "I need to be able to trust them, which is why I need you to… evaluate them, Arya. I would propose finding a midwife, but a brothel seems simpler, especially in this chaos."

"Your Grace, it is a moon early," Missandei said, a small frown on her lips.

Daenerys attempted to count the days she had been separated from Jon, Jon who remembered everything Sam had told him about her progression. She supposed it was early, though all sense of time had been displaced during the last sleepless days while preparing for battle.

"Yes, well the excitement has sped things along," Dany said with a smile to her friend. "I feel well, do not worry for me."

"We will do as you ask, Your Grace. Before we depart, I came to tell you that a man who calls himself Connington has been captured. They've just brought him into the yard, some Tully men said he knew your brother, Rhaegar, thought it best to bring him here rather than the Dragonpit with the others."

Jon Connington. Daenerys was not feeling well then, her stomach churned in a manner entirely unrelated to her pregnancy and imminent delivery.

"Yes," she said. "Tyrion, I'd like you to remain with me, though if you have any suggestions on where Arya and Missandei might have the most success, please inform them. I will see you in the yard."

Jon Connington. Obviously, a man of the Golden Company, but beyond that she knew little of Jon Connington, the friend of her brother, once Hand of the King. Frankly, she had wished he died in the fighting, time was sparse and there were many things she intended to accomplish before being entirely consumed with the birth of her child.

"I did not believe it to be true," a voice called out as she made her way briskly into the yard. It was difficult to walk in any sort of way that commanded respect and silence, so she held her face in a tight glower with a hand on the sword at her hip as though she intended to use it.

"Shut up," a Tully soldier backhanded the kneeling man who had spoken. "You will speak when the Queen wishes you to."

"You look like him, like Rhaegar," the man cried out, evidently unfazed by the hit. The colour of his hair was difficult to make out for the dirt and blood that matted it, his skin was tanned but pulled with aging and scars. Blue eyes shone out from the worn face, bright and glowing with something that appeared to be excitement. "More like your mother, of course."

Dany held up her hand to the soldier who was ready to hit this _Connington_ once more.

"Do you think your name will spare you?" She asked him.

"I laid down my sword," he breathed. No his eyes were not excited, he heaved as he spoke, his voice strained. A desperate man. "I did. I'll tell you everything, but I am here serve you, my Queen."

Daenerys felt herself snarling at the man who had the audacity to believe she would accept his service in exchange for some words.

"If you are who you say, I do not know you. My father knew you, my mother, my brother, but I do not. And you have sided with Cersei Lannister, all while knowing I have been alive."

Tyrion arrived then, frowning as he regarded the disheveled sellsword before them.

"You said something, just as I came out, that you did not believe it… what did you mean by that?" Dany asked.

The man huffed, looking at Tyrion and then to her.

"That you were with child. There were rumours of course, and now I find myself believing them all… Rhaegar's son is your husband, they say. Jon Snow was not a bastard, they say. Lyanna Stark -"

A conflicted expression crossed the man's face as he failed to complete his thought and Tyrion leaned to whisper to Daenerys.

"They say Jon Connington loved your brother," he said. "This may just be our man."

" _Our man_ is of no use to me," she whispered back. "He is but an inconvenience at the moment."

Tyrion nodded, recognizing her concern, and stepped closer to the man to observe him.

"I have heard rumours myself," Tyrion said. "That you supported a false king, a boy in Essos who claimed to be Elia and Rhaegar's son. What do you believe about those whispers?"

"I made a mistake," the man said. "He was but a child who believed himself to be a Blackfyre, raised in such a manner, and convinced by those around him. Illyrio Mopatis and… they encouraged the boy to lie that he was Aegon upon meeting me, to use me… I made a mistake."

"Where is he, this false Aegon?" Tyrion pressed, though Daenerys' mind had wandered with the mention of Illyrio.

"Dead," the man said. "Dead by my own hand before we left for Westeros. Word was spreading, and I become more convinced that he could not be Aegon, especially as I heard more of Her Grace and Jon Snow. The pretender, he convinced many to aid him, planning to turn on Cersei Lannister and take the throne himself. As much I would have wished to see her dead, I could not allow him to do such a thing, not if Rhaegar's true son and sister would work to depose the Lannister bitch."

"And you were not punished for murdering him?" Tyrion asked.

"I fled. I fled and I came to the city, waiting for you, Your Grace, knowing you would be drawn here after they sacked Dragonstone."

Daenerys found the story difficult to believe, though the man's words made sense. Why should he support them, why had he not done more before? There were many questions, but one burned in her throat as she thought if the magister that had been mentioned. Her body filled with a sudden raging heat.

"Illyrio and who?" She asked. "You skipped a name."

The man watched her for a moment before speaking, spitting the words. "The Spider."

It was simple to distrust Varys, she had always known that and yet he had done little to attract her ire again. But she could not help the hotness that rose in her stomach at the idea of a betrayal by the man.

Her shock was nothing compared to Tyrion's who staggered in response before catching himself.

"I do not believe they meant to harm you, Your Grace. I believe their plan was more elaborate. Have a false King take the throne from the usurpers, expose him for who he was after to make it simpler for you to capture it and win the trust of the people, for them to see you as a saviour. The boy was a pawn for them, but he believed in the lie too fully to allow him to live…"

The man's blue eyes fell to the ground, and Tyrion stepped away from her.

It took a moment to understand that while the fire had been stoked within her, the warmth she had truly felt was trickling down her legs, forming a small puddle at her feet. It had soaked her breeches, she felt it now, though it was not obvious to anyone else as they were hidden beneath a layer of her skirts and armour.

Daenerys reasoned that if gods existed, they were punishing her in that very moment.

Tyrion cleared his throat, and as the first word fell from his tongue Daenerys found herself gripped once more with pain, Tyrion steadying her to the best of his ability as she shuddered, two Dothraki surging in from elsewhere in the yard, grasping her arms before she could sink to the ground.

The pain was worse, and surreal, black dots filled her vision and she felt a cry leave her mouth, the yard falling quiet soon after. It continued for a moment longer than the others, a force that felt as though her pelvis was being squeezed shut and pried open all at the same time.

"Put him in the Black Cells, and tell no one of who he claims to be," Tyrion's voice came, commanding the Tully soldiers. Dany's vision returned as the pain faded again. She wanted to question the man, to know more, to hunt down Varys and interrogate him, but it had become clear very quickly that her child would not wait.

"If you see Lord Varys, do nothing," Tyrion said. "He mustn't know what we do."

Daenerys had to laugh as the Dothraki steadied her back into a standing position, though her legs wobbled.

As if they could keep anything from the Spider.

"Missandei and Arya have gone to the nearest brothel," Tyrion said to her in a low tone. "They will be back soon with any luck. The steward's quarters should be available to use in Maegor's Holdfast.  The ground floor. Let us bring you there, Your Grace. You cannot ignore what is happening any longer."

"Jon," she breathed, desperately wishing for her husband, his steady eyes that offered assurance no matter the situation, that promised calm when she needed it most.

"Connington or Snow?" Tyrion laughed as they begin making their way to the holdfast, her Dothraki men following behind as she insisted on walking alone. "I will write him once we've got you settled and cared for. If we write him before, I imagine he'll fall into despair for not knowing you are well."

Above them a roar came, and a dark shadow smothered the outer yard, the ache that had settled in Daenerys' pelvis eased slightly as Drogon sailed overhead, looking to land in the small space.

 _You will not fit,_ she tried to convince him, though he shrieked overhead once more.

He wanted to take her to safety, he believed her to be in harm’s way.

_No, my love. I must stay._

She knew that he understood there was a child coming, he had caressed her belly with his nose on a number of occasions. But not here. He did not want to be here.

 _We cannot go to Dragonstone, there isn't time_.

As though understanding its mother, her babe encouraged another wave to crash upon her, more focused on her abdomen now rather than rolling through her body. It remained, pulsing, beating at her, unceasing.

"My armour," she whispered, sweating more than she could comprehend suddenly, feeling that more than just her breeches were soaked. "I need it off."

The pressure continued, a burning as though thousands of needles were pricking at her, as though she were swelling uncontrollably, she was inflamed. The sensation was unfamiliar, truly burning, the tearing pain of it was unknown to her.

 _I will not deliver you here_ , she said to her babe. Drogon had quietened overhead, a moment later landing in the yard, filling most of it save for the edges and the pathway, which she and others were on. _Not in the yard of this wretched place_.

"Fetch Ser Jorah," Tyrion called to someone. "Call her Bloodriders to watch Cersei!"

She was not quite sitting, closer to squatting, but the image of Drogon waiting ahead of her brought peace and dulled the pain.

"I need to go to Drogon," she said, though she was unsure of why.

"But Your Grace," Tyrion pleaded. "We must get you inside."

She shook her head, determined to make it to her dragon.

Drogon stepped towards her, the ground shaking and those around fleeing to open spaces, away from his feet and belly which hovered just above the ground.

 _Stop!_ Dany called to him. His wings would hit the buildings, would crumble the stone and hit anyone beneath. Tyrion followed behind her, but she had managed to move more quickly than he. Upon reaching Drogon his tail swept across the yard, stirring dirt and mud into the air until it was wrapped around her, forming a barrier. He leaned down, ready for her to mount him, but Dany paused.

It would risk the babe. She knew that. All she wanted to was fly away, leave the place, but no longer could she consider what she desired. The avoidance of the truth that the child was coming, Dany understood her own actions. It was impossible to comprehend what might happen, she didn’t want to accept that she could suffer and die in the same way as her mother, Jon’s mother, countless others had. She didn’t want to face the delivery, she didn’t want the agony… they had captured King’s Landing too easily, surely something would go wrong.

Leaving seemed like the simplest way to smother such issues, leave them behind, leave the concerned expression and actions of others on the ground while she soared through the sky.

Tyrion called out for her from behind Drogon, her dragon having coiled protectively around her. Without noticing, she had unbuckled her armour, had stepped out of her boots and kicked them elsewhere, her feet squelching in the mud. She forced her breeches down, though she could not unclothe fast enough before the pain knocked at her once more. It had never really left; it would never leave she feared.

“Your Grace!”

It was Missandei, Dany knew it though she could not see past the blockade of dragon hide.

“Let her pass,” Dany asked of Drogon. She leaned against him now, one hand against the rolling muscled of his back leg, finding the that physical connection allowed her to think clearer. Perhaps he was absorbing some of the pain, though he betrayed no discomfort, and failed to obey her. “I need her, please, Drogon.”

He whined in response, unmoving.

Daenerys managed to step the breeches down her legs, forcing them to the ground, and finally she was free of everything but the thin few layers of her dress. The pressure in her pelvis was shunting downwards, she couldn’t help but to crouch again, one hand on Drogon, the other going to the pain.

Her hand came away wet and hot, not only with blood, but with unidentifiable liquid. It shook uncontrollably, her lungs rattled as she tried her best to breathe at a normal pace, remember anything she knew about labour.

“It’s not stopping,” Dany cried out, feeling tears warming her cheeks, clouding her vision. She was not remotely confident that anyone could hear her.

Terror gripped her then, a terror she couldn’t recall having ever experienced. It settled into her very bones, they shook with it, her skin prickled and she was colder than she had ever been in the north, and then hotter than she had ever been in fire.

She was alone. She was alone and her child was forcing its way out of her.

“Drogon, please,” she whimpered into him, but he did not budge. Could he not feel that she needed help?

“If it does not end, if feels that you must, you should push, Your Grace!” An unfamiliar voice came.

“Push?” She asked through a wall of tears in her throat.

Her hand flew down again, the idea of pushing sounding like relief. It met something, not just liquid, but something hard and round.

A head.

A figure appeared beside her, Drogon groaning, but not moving swiftly enough to catch the perpetrator.

Arya.

Her good sister was smiling, but it fell when her grey eyes caught Dany’s.

“It’s here,” Dany said, her voice wavering and lower than a whisper. “I have the head.”

“Seven hells,” Arya gasped. “I think you should push. That’s what they said out there.”

Dany nodded, and before she could tell Arya to prepare, she was bearing down with all of her might, every sliver of strength she had in her body, all that she drew from Drogon’s presence pushed downwards.

Arya was crouching beneath her, Dany’s head forehead fell onto Drogon.

The head slid from her hands, she felt more of the child, but not all of it pass by her fingers.

“Breathe,” Arya said. “I think you should breathe. I remember the Maester telling my mother to do that when she had Rickon. I was outside the door; they didn’t know it, but I was listening. It was horrifying.”

Daenerys wanted to snap at the girl, she was doing her very best to breath and all she wanted to was collapse, for someone to pull the rest of the babe from her.

“Is the head out?” Dany asked.

“Nearly,” Arya said. “I wish I knew more, Dany. But you do can this yourself, you’ve done so much.”

“I’m going to push again,” Dany said, looking down at the mud, more liquid flowing from her.

“I’m here,” Arya promised.

The pain was incomprehensible, a wave at its crest, the sun at its zenith. Dany felt that her body should not be able to do such a thing, but her good-sister was right. She had come this far, she had carried this child for so long, this child she never believed could exist. She had taken King’s Landing, secured the kingdom for the time so that they could go North once more and defeat the dead. There was more at stake than ever before, more people to protect, to care for. It wouldn’t end here.

“Shoulders are out,” Arya said, her voice strong and steady, like Jon’s. “I think if you just do it once more… its already sliding, but if you push again I think it will end.”

After a few moments, the pressure began to recede and Daenerys did as she felt she must. With a final cry, a final collection of her strength she released the babe into the world.

There was a whimper following a breath of silence. A whimper that turned into a croak, and into a muted cry. Drogon shuffled, his soft cry filled the air with the child’s.

“She’s beautiful!” Arya exclaimed before Dany could comprehend what had happened. “She’s here, Dany. Oh, you don’t look well, you should sit.”

So she sat, the world a blur, a burning still filled her pelvis though the heaviness of it had vanished. Drogon’s leg supported her as she collapsed against it, she planted her feet in the ground so that her knees were up, her legs opened still.

In her bare hands, Arya held a bloodied squirming bundle whose purple fists were waving about. Kneeling in Daenerys’ mess, Arya offered the babe.

“Your princess,” she beamed. “I’ll get a blanket.”

Dany took the child, feeling it was impossible the thing had come from her. It was warm and heavy, covered in fluids that stuck to Daenerys’ dress and hands and arms.

 _Princess_.

She held one tiny foot in her hand, the babe support along her arm, the head cradled in the nook at her elbow. A small thing. A small girl, but she cried through squished pink lips, her cheeks were round and full as her belly, her eyes squeezed shut, small dark lashes apparent through the slime, though no hair was visible on her head.

There was a moment when Daenerys realized she was alone with her baby girl, her newborn babe who was alive and kicking. The cord was attached still, she regarded it with awe, wondering how it had nourished the creature in her arms. She wanted to say something, but she had no words, only marvel and relief and love. She brought her girl to her chest, basking in the warmth that radiated into her, the pressure of little fists pushing against her breasts, feet sliding along her arms.

“Your sister, Drogon,” she laughed as the dragon rumbled beneath her in contentment, her own heart swelling with the same sensation. His tale unfurled to allow help to finally reach her, though Daenerys did not want it now. She only wanted Jon, she wanted him to see their girl, the sweet child in her arms, she knew the tears he would shed, the love that would pour from him and envelope his daughter.

 _Rhaegal_ , she thought to Drogon. Perhaps Rhaegal could sense what had happened, perhaps he would know as Drogon had.

Arya was the first to appear, Missandei and two women dressed in tattered clothes with Tyrion and Jorah behind, followed by a number of various soldiers. Her good-sister offered the blanket, tucked Daenerys’ dress around her legs and then stepped back to join the others.

Her companions paused around her before falling to their knees, heads bowed to their new princess.

Daenerys tried to speak, but words caught in her throat. She wrapped the blanket around her daughter the best she could manage, the girl’s small fingers touching at Daenerys’ collarbones.

“I swear to serve the Princess, My Queen, just as I have sworn to serve you,” Jorah said, his head still bowed.

“Princess Rhaella,” Dany said without thinking. “Of Houses Stark and Targaryen. I thank you, Ser Jorah. She will know no fiercer protector.”

Jorah’s head rose, and he flashed a smile. “Perhaps she might find them in her father, her mother, her brothers, a certain white wolf. But I will accept my position behind them.”

“And her aunt,” Arya blurted, smirking at Jorah. “Sorry, old man.”

“She did scale a dragon-wall,” Daenerys laughed as Jorah nodded in acceptance. The bliss that had washed over her was shrinking away and her eyes fell back on the yard, recalling her encounter with Connington, and that Cersei still sat on the throne. “I would accept each of your vows, but there is too much to be done. Please, see that I am well, that we are well, tell who you must, and someone please inform my husband.”

“We should get you to a bed, Your Grace,” one of the two ladies spoke. She was older with grey hair fastened tightly into a long braid at her shoulder. “There is still the afterbirth to come.”

The idea of moving was exhausting. Dany was not confident that her legs could support her or that any muscles in her body would allow such a thing. Her daughter’s squalling continued, Dany remembered that they were still physically attached.

“Please, leave us,” she said to her friends, gesturing only for the women in the party to come nearer. “Arya, one more task, and then I promise you can do what you came here for. I’d like you to do the honours, to cut the cord.”

The elder women instructed Arya, the other women standing somewhat away while Missandei crouched to Dany, admiring the child.

When it was done Drogon roared once more in a shout of celebration, his jubilance evident to Dany. Happy, he was happy, she felt it stronger than she had in weeks. With her tie to her daughter severed, Drogon was able to reach her fully again, his thoughts and emotions filling her head.

Three images and thoughts swirled more prominently than others. Green. Green like Rhaegal. A stormy grey like the sky, like Jon and Arya’s eyes. And white like the snow and like Ghost. Daenerys understood what it meant.

Rhaegal knew, Jon knew, and they were coming.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully it was readable, and semi enjoyable. 
> 
> Just a mini explanation for bits I've not explained (and likely won't ever expand on): The Night King has taken the North, but for unknown reasons has not pressed beyond The Neck. Daenerys was drawn to Dragonstone after it was sacked by Euron and the Golden Company. Having defeated some forces there, she turned to King's Landing where a small collection of her army gathered to take the city. Jon and company have collected at Riverrun having fled south. Daenerys' departure was agreed upon by all, but they decided Jon should remain with his people while she went to help her own.
> 
> If I write more, the Jon Connington part will come into play, I swear!
> 
> This fic works alongside my other one, A Glow, so you sadly may know where this leads. One day, I might add a third piece to tie the two more closely together. 
> 
> I appreciate your time and feedback (aka please leave a comment with your thoughts) :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and hopefully reviewing!


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